Weidergeburt
by Angsty Freedom Fighter
Summary: A simple fic that, in a way, novelizes the Rebirth ending of Silent Hill 2, along with some of my own insight as to what might have happened in that very twisted ending. Please R no angry mobs.


Weidergeburt—A Silent Hill 2 fanfiction

By: The Angsty Freedom Fighter

Disclaimer: *pokes head out from some random corner* Oh, hey! Hiya! Anou…what was it that I was meant to put here—oh yeah! *Ahem* *is done being hyper* I do not own anything Silent Hill-ish (not including the games and the soundtracks), though in all honesty I wouldn't mind owning the characters! *smile smile smile* Anyways, that being said I guess I'll just be quite and let you read my story.

Author's Note: *smile* **not!** Before we begin, let me say that this story is a simple one-shot done in the boredom of last night. It really didn't take to long, hence the one-shot thing…*sweatdrop* But yeah, do forgive me if this sucks major kupo-nuts…Anyways, the title of this fic (weidergeburt—German for 'rebirth') was really given to me by a friend of mine, though she doesn't really know she inspired me to call it this. Isn't life just full of coincidences, ne? ^_^

"…Oh life which flows to the heart, oh cup that brims with the whitest if wine, it is in thee that all begins…" –Book: Crimson Ceremony

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I can save her still…"A voice—softly spoken but echoing in the vast emptiness of mist shrouding dawn's coming, the silvery sheen of the ethereal fog reflected in the mirror-like surface of Lake Toluca, it's murky depths well hidden in a façade of it's inert beauty. A small rowboat pressed forward and forward still, breaking the calm of the water and sending dark ripples to disturb the rest of the water as if to defy and anger the spirits of the water.

To destroy its balance like fading sanity… 

The boat continued, never led astray even by the roughest of rocking, pressing on and on to its final destination—a small island placed in the middle of the large, centered perfectly as if god himself had placed it there for his own amusement…Or the Demon God of Silent Hill anyways…What need for such a island? Plenty a need for such an island. Especially to some of the residence that once lived in the town. A place of ritual…

Rituals for their Gods…in a town containing so much—

So much sin… 

The water gently rocked the rowboat from side to side, but James managed to keep it in control, the movements of the boat feeling far worse than in reality to his battered body and mind.

_Abstract. Everything…abstract._

"…I can save her." He repeated once again, uttered enough to be considered a litany. The island grew near, though still invisible from his position in the fog-shrouded body of water…He knew it was there. He could literally _feel_ it, feel the ominous sensation of fear, of pain, of horror--of its secrets hidden only in the pages and words of two books and left to leek out the rest of its unspoken truth through its unapproachable aura.

Too far to see, but close enough to feel…just a little longer if distance and time matters…

But time _didn't_ matter to James Sunderland anymore. Time was as no longer a care—it meant _nothing_ to him; he'd row forever without complaint if it was so desired by whomever was up there laughing at him. Time didn't matter, pain didn't matter, and mental agony didn't matter. Nothing intangible and inanimate mattered anymore…nothing.

Only she mattered…

"Mary…" James spoke in a breathy whisper; the features of his pale face a mixture of daze and insanity as he stared out into the swirling fog before him, "You look so peaceful…" a smile traced across his lips, sardonic yet gleeful, "Forgive me for waking you…But without you, I just can't go on…" his voice trailed off, recalling what he had uttered during his gruesome fight against a demonic Maria.

Without Mary I just can't go on… 

And it was true; oh, God knew it was true. He'd pray for his own death just to join her…

Or pray with all his might just to bring her back. Anything and everything was worth that…

He blinked, the zoned-out glaze over his null and void eyes dispersed as he looked up to the nothingness that surrounded him, the island finally coming into view through the thick shroud of fog. "This town," he stated out loud, "Silent Hill…the old gods haven't left this place…and they still grant powers to those who venerate them." He paused, some faint spark of hope rising into the back of his mind and pushing forward into his conscious stream of mind making him smile another near insane grin.

Sanity no more…

"Power to defy even death…"

The rowboats journey came to a gentle, but still abrupt stop as it finally came ashore, teetering a little to one side as James slowly climbed out of it, boots scuffing the muddy earth before sinking in, leaving imprints as he slowly walked up the steep hill before him. He found himself silently wondering if all that was happening was truly his reality…

Clinging to the hands of insanity to grasp the last strands of sanity… 

It could all just simply be a nightmare—a simple horrid dream that he would soon wake up from, look around his room in a panic and wake his dearest Mary to tell her of his horrid night or perhaps back to the days of mourning after his lover's death…either way was far more appreciated than what he experienced less than a day ago. All the death, the pain, and the agony…all the guilt ridding on his shoulders…all the pain he wished away…

And nightmares don't bring people pain. It _was_ his reality, no matter how sick and twisted the going got…

Halfway up the seemingly never-ending (or at least in his mind) hill he began to wonder if the books he'd found were just as real as the rest of life that surrounded him. Could the book be merely rumor and fairytale? A simple hoax to lift the spirits of a near-destroyed soul…? A simple lie to drive him closer and closer to insanity…?

Already he was trekking hand in hand with lunacy itself…what could matter? 

He shook his head, ridding the thoughts away along with a few brain cells, _No_ he mentally scorned himself for thinking such a thought, _They have to be real…everything…the monsters, the decaying atmosphere—those were all real. Why can't they be real too?_

Everything…the books held everything—or at least to his twisted mind, pulled and contorted and reshaped by force of the town itself, it held everything. Everything he needed at the moment, as if predestined. _Created just for him…_

Predestined…like his death. He was _meant_ to die there, captured forever and tormented along with the other lost souls of the horrid town.

Like Angela Orosco…Like Eddie Dombrowski…he was _meant _to die there. Punished for his dreaded sins, slain for the good of everything…

_Sinner's blood need not walk the earth any longer._

_He_ was meant to die, not Mary; never Mary…She never deserved the pain of death…but he did. 

With every new step up the hill, James felt his legs quaking—giving way, as if in there own way telling him they were too weak to continue. Ignoring the pain and null sensation running through his legs he continued up, the ground finally leveling itself as he reached the top. Still, every step sent forth a mixture of dull pain and a jolt of brief memory, as if his body no longer knew how to function properly—an exhausted body at its breaking point. He recalled severed portions of memory: Laura's taunting laugh, Angela's sardonic smile, the crazed fear in Eddie's eyes, and the disgustingly wicked grin Maria had always given him…what would they remember of him?

For Laura—the cold and painful truth of Mary.

For Angela—a look of vainness and befuddlement as she scaled up the fire-engulfed stairway…

For Eddie—a look of shock before his death (a death at James' own hands)

For Maria—the barrel of a rifle and savage glare. She never seemed to really face death anyways.

…What did it matter what they recalled of him. Angela was dead, Eddie was dead, Maria was dead. Laura was nothing more than a faint shadow of memory now, a fading ember only to be recalled by her cold (but true) words.

_I hate you James! I hate you, I hate you, I **hate** you!!_

He hated himself too…If only he had known the truth earlier…than he wouldn't have fought against the punishment that was set for him. Death by the executioner—Pyramid Head's—hands.

Fate could not be avoided in Silent Hill…all whose souls were lost in the town belonged there…

But Mary… 

"I swear that you will be spared…this town will not have you."

His steps finally came to an end. In reality, the hill (though steep) was small, but to his mind and body—like the waves that rocked the boat earlier—seemed huge and a pain in the ass. The smallest of movements felt like they would be his last—the pain in his body now focused everywhere, but still numb in its own oxymoronic sense.

The ritual grounds, as spoken of in the book 'Lost Memories' stood amidst chisel-carved pillars and dead and dying trees. A red symbol painted over top of cobblestones placed in the center of the grounds meant to represent a floor shone brightly through the fog as if with its own ethereal glow, beckoning James closer, speaking unspoken words to him…

'Ritual' it spoke…the Crimson Ceremony… 

The center of both the circle of pillars and red symbol displayed what looked like a pedestal, dull and granite stone on a contrast of red, the swirling fog adding to a fictional feel.

Yet again, a distortion of reality and unreality…

Minutes passed into a full hour, warped by some unknown force as the ritual had begun. It was almost amusing that a spell of rebirth—of new life, regained life—could be so easily done, so easily readied. 

But then again, he wasn't including the 'old life to be destroyed in place for a new' section…but then again, that was common sense in a way.

"My Demon Lord of Silent Hill—Samiel! I call thy name! Heed the words of a fellow acolyte!" James shouted into the fog filled air, his voice echoing through the barren island and through the streets of the empty, dead town, "I beg of thee—an exchange of souls! Raise Mary's soul from its eternal rest—bring her back to the living plane—and in exchange, take mine! Take my soul instead!!"

Claim me instead… 

That being said, he pulled the crystal cork off the small bottle of white chrism using his teeth, hands too numb (not to mention weak) to really do any delicate work, and tossed the bejeweled top to the cobblestone ground below and drained the small vile of its contents into the obsidian goblet, holding it to his lips as he shouted something else.

"Oh Lord Samiel! God of this town—ruler of demons—I call thy name! I pray for my own death! Drag my soul to hell! Torment it before the rest of the world; make me one of your followers—that I may support your goal to bring this world of humanity to ashes! Anything—just spare my beloved's soul! Spare Mary and take me instead!!" with that, he drained the goblet, the violently bitter fluid sliding down his throat and into his stomach, scalding his insides all the while like some boiling hot drink. The echoes faded, leaving behind an empty silence—an unspoken promise on behalf of the god…nothingness.

He felt weary—mentally and physically to the brink of death itself. He glanced down to the ground, the red symbol seemingly glowing brighter than before…as if the demon lord himself had actually heard the promise of bloodshed…

A soul for a soul… 

James narrowed his eyes, subconsciously contemplating his next move. There was only one thing left to do—a sacrifice. One more thing to do before it could all come to an end.

…Much blood had to be shed, along with his life in order to bring his love back…

And she would return again…she would be happy.

He subconsciously pulled the knife out of his coat pocket, admiring its dull luster as he held it to his face and then slowly raised it high above his head, as high as he was able, the sharp, blood-smeared tip pointing to the ground below, ready to strike the killing blow, to take his life. He faltered, however, a nervousness spreading through him and causing him to hesitate. 

It seemed such a simple thing—taking ones own life, but in reality it was still a hard thing to do. He wanted this, oh god, everyone alive or dead knew he wanted this, but something made him falter. A thought—what if it really was all just some hoax? A simple little story made to make people believe in myths and folklore.

_No!_ He grasped the knife tightly in both hands and shut his eyes tightly, positioning the blade so that it would strike his chest. _It would work! Mary would come back!_

_…Anything for Mary…_

With that--all thoughts of doubt leaving his mind--he drove the knife home, the silver blade sinking through cloth, flesh, and bone, sinking into his beating heart and rewarding him with a sickening crack as some ribs snapped under the brute force of his own blow…

Pain had never felt so bittersweet… 

What felt like an eternity finally came to be, the pain surging through his body, numbing all other complaints in its raging flames…an unbearable pain that nearly tore a cry from his lips and raw throat. 

Never so welcomed… 

Yet again, another eternity after the pain, the blade still through his heart and blood running down his chest, soaking his shirt and pants as it ran in rivulets down his body and to the ground. Blood as red as the symbol below him pooling around him slowly…The world around him began to swirl, his body overcome by an overpowering urge to sleep. Through his hazed mind a thought broke through the swirling world around him and the urge of sleep—a thought of his beloved, alive again due to his actions.

Are you spared now…Mary…? 

His legs gave way, his whole body colliding with the ground, in the puddle of forming blood. Nothing. He felt nothing…only a deep feeling of hope. Hope that Mary was alive…but either way, it was too late to reverse anything anyways…

In his opinion, he at least got what he deserved…

Seconds passed like hours, longer than any time he'd ever felt spending on earth. His body started to slowly shut down, all his senses suddenly gone. Sound, feeling…everything. Only sight seemed to remain, even still that was quickly fading.

Fading…fading…fading.

Dying…he was dying…He never felt to utterly tired his entire life. The mist swirled above him, a cloudy gray taunting him as he lay there pouring his life's essence on the ground, eyelids slowly descending over azure eyes, closing a final time. Though his half-lidded vision appeared a shadow, standing above him, looking down at him, crying for him…or was it raining?

A small, weak smile came across James' lips, his eyes closing. "Mary…" he managed to get out, seemingly the last of his strength…

You're alive… 

_So happy…_

His eyes shut. His chest rose and fell no more…

Mary…I love you. Now and forever… 

~Owari desu!~

A/N: … … … … … …o.o…*squeals and curls in a fetal position* I WAS BORED!!! So sue me!! *sob* I at least hope you people out there took joy in the time of reading this…~_~This fic is more or less of a slight break from a fic that I've been working on since the ending months of my summer vacation…*poo* which I still haven't gotten the time out of my school-homework schedule to complete it, but yeah, when I do, please read it. I know it'll be worth the read more than this. Anyways, please R&R for the time being! Buh bye!


End file.
